listened, motionless and still
by Coins Compressed
Summary: /Most people just annoy Arthur, but he knows, with all his being, that he absolutely has to get to know this man./ AU, AsaKiku, oneshot, fluff.


**AN: **Inspired by something IRL. Also, this pairing = so much love I can't even. Anyway, enjoy!

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** listened, motionless and still**

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Arthur Kirkland, quintessential gentleman extraordinaire, is truly an upstanding citizen, even if he does say so himself. He pays his taxes, votes Conservative or Labour depending on his mood, and classes _The Beatles_ as his favourite band. He's a polite, confident young man with the ability to charm old ladies and angry bus-drivers alike.

The ability to charm angry bus-drivers is more important, however, because Arthur can't drive, and has found buses monumentally helpful in aiding him when he needs to get to work. It's good to befriend one's driver, lest they throw you off their vehicle and onto the street in a district of the city you've never been to before – London is a big place, and Arthur knows how being kicked off a bus feels from experience, but that's a story for another time.

It's also beside the point, though it does show how rationally Arthur thinks things over. He despairs of those with a poor grasp of grammar, and he prefers cats to dogs. And though he doesn't like to brag, obviously, he knows people could slay dragons and rescue cats from trees, but they would still not match him in terms of his gallantry.

He is also currently hiding between the bookcases at his local library, staring fixedly at a man nearby.

Hiding is _not_ Arthur's usual style, nor is staring. He knows what you're thinking, and he would just like to tell you that he's only lurking between bookcases because he has no other choice. And it's a _public_ library, after all, so nobody can tell him to get lost.

Besides, it would be inconvenient for Arthur to just get up and leave anyway, because he's one of the librarians working here. Librarians are very convenient people.

But he digresses. There _is _a reason for Arthur to be cowering near the _Fantasy_ and _Crime_ sections, and there _is _a reason for Arthur to be owlishly watching an oblivious chap that just so happens to have wandered in to have a good browse of the battered _Harry Potters_ on display.

It's because the man is gorgeous.

Arthur Kirkland, for all his natural brilliance, and superiority to his fellow mankind, is not very good at interacting with people that _aren't _old ladies or angry bus-drivers. It's not that Arthur doesn't like the company of sweet grey-haired women that give him candies hard enough to break his teeth, or the company of slightly deranged public sector workers with machines capable of steamrollering pedestrians. It's just that Arthur would occasionally like to talk to other groups of people without starting loud, raging arguments, and that's an art he hasn't mastered yet.

Most people just annoy Arthur. Which, granted, is probably why he finds it so easy to start yelling at them, criticising every aspect of their being, from the way they dress to the way they breathe. He's also well aware that, if he doesn't get the earliest insult in, they'll start insulting _him_ first. Reoccurring topics of ridicule are his (perfectly natural) eyebrows and (absolutely normal) tendency to wear argyle sweaters, so Arthur has started to steadily withdraw from interacting with others unless he absolutely has to.

And he knows, with all his being, that he _absolutely has to _get to know this man.

His name, according to the library's index of registered members, is Kiku Honda, traditionally Japanese in rendering. Honda is about Arthur's age of twenty-three years, perhaps slightly older – Arthur could check that on the database, like he did Honda's name, but that would be a little bit _too _creepy. Arthur has standards.

Every day, between ten and eleven o' clock in the morning, Honda spends time in the library; every day except Sunday, at least, because the library is closed on Sundays. Honda has been registered with the library for six months, and Arthur has been obsessed – for want of a better word, because 'obsessed' sounds creepy and Arthur is definitely not creepy whatsoever – with Honda for five of those.

It wasn't like this to start with, at first. No, not at all. _At first_, Arthur took no notice of Honda's visits, brushing him off as just another regular visitor, or someone seeking shelter from London's spring rains. But then Honda began taking out Arthur's favourite novels, or plays, or poetry anthologies, and it was on a Monday – dull, grey, dreary – that Arthur realised sharply, like a slap to the cheek or a bus to the face, that he had developed _feelings _for the unaware regular. It's just a shame that Honda never seems to like talking to people in the library, and he's never said so much as one word to Arthur before.

They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Not only is that anatomically incorrect, but it's also untrue in Arthur's case. The way to _his _heart is having good taste in literature, and he's fairly sure that he is indeed a man.

In the now, Arthur thinks that perhaps being easy on the eye helps in winning someone over. Kiku Honda is possibly the closest a human has ever gotten to being a masterpiece, slender and reservedly graceful, with dreamer's eyes and raven hair and skin that looks so, _so _soft, rounded off with a brilliant taste in suits.

Staring at him for too long gets Arthur thinking of creative ways to remove those suits, and then he thinks of all the... _adult _books that Honda takes out, and then he thinks of Honda's nimble fingers doing things other than just flicking through those book pages and _then _Arthur runs to the bathrooms when it gets too much, promising himself morning after morning that _today _will be the day he asks Honda out – or at least tries to have a conversation with him for the first time, if he can manage that much without turning it into a quarrel.

"_Tut-tut, _shameful," a voice trills, just as a hand comes down on Arthur's shoulder. "Objectifying poor Mr. Honda again? It isn't very endearing to have someone watch you from afar every day when you're innocently trying to read—"

"Stop talking!" Arthur hisses, taking a quick step back into the relative shadows of the _Non-Fiction _section. He glares at his newly-gained companion, his nemesis and co-worker, before continuing, "He hasn't found me out yet and I'd quite like to keep it that way."

Francis raises an eyebrow, partway between grinning and grimacing. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Arthur says resolutely, before faltering slightly when he adds, "or at least, until I work out how to introduce myself without sounding _repulsive _when expressing interest."

"If you are talking about my spectacular pick-up lines," Francis sniffs, "I stand by them and believe them to be effective."

"Tell me," Arthur says, his tone lifeless, "have you _ever _pulled a woman by asking them if they have a map?"

Francis shrugs. "I only need the map because I keep getting lost in their eyes."

Usually Arthur would think of something soul-crushing to fire back, but he is too distracted by Honda, currently lifting a lithe hand to sweep back a strand of his dark hair. As he watches Honda, he isn't aware that Francis is watching _him _until the Frenchman lets out a throat-clearing cough.

"_Arthur_," Francis says, with a melodramatic sigh of faux-sympathy, "this is worse than your infatuation with that American student two summers ago."

"He wasn't American," Arthur says, "he was _Canadian, _and I wasn't _infatuated. _We had a friendship based on a mutual interest in Tintin, that's all."

"_I_ like Tintin," Francis replies, tapping his fingers against a shelf of the closest bookcase.

Arthur merely responds with a dismissive wave. "You're truly suffering from delusions of grandeur if you believe I class you as a friend."

"I've been thinking," Francis perseveres, gently swapping two books around to return them to correct alphabetical order.

"You should leave that to the professionals," Arthur says, but his heart isn't really in it and he knows it. Even conflict with Francis has lost its fun when Honda's around, because it just wouldn't do for Arthur to appear immature and irritable in the company of such a sophisticated man.

"_Ah_, you may be interested in my recent thoughts," Francis goes on.

"You've already told me enough of your thoughts to make me seriously consider therapy, I don't need the director's cut."

"How rude," Francis replies, all the while grinning like a lunatic, threatening to turn on his heel. "I was going to give you a failsafe opportunity to finally interact with Mr. Honda, but I suppose you're not interested..."

"_Wait_," Arthur cries, before he knows what he's saying, and then his hand is around Francis' wrist and he's gripping as tightly as he can with no clear intention to ever let go. "Tell me everything, and in return I will make sure your death is painless."

Francis merely looks entertained, asking, "Have you tried just _speaking_ to Mr. Honda?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur says.

He doesn't know _how_ to interact with beautiful intellectuals without his mind going blank, with Francis' pick-up lines as the only thing left in his brain for him to use. He'd rather not end up asking Honda if he was 'arrested earlier', because even if it is 'illegal to look that good', such a question is still not a sensible conversation opener.

"Oh," Francis says, easing back his wrist before it bruises. "So you _do_ know?"

If Arthur wasn't suspicious of Francis entirely before, he unquestionably is now. "Know what?"

"About his _state_," Francis says, and Arthur's face falls.

"What do you mean, 'his state'?" Arthur perseveres. "He's not... meant to be some kind of agent for the Japanese embassy, is he? If that's what you're trying to tell me, Francis, then I'm going to have to concede that you've gone _completely_ bonkers—"

"No," Francis says, his beam returning. "So you _don't _know."

Arthur glances at Francis, and then to Honda, and then repeats the motion until he gives in and asks, _pleads_, "What is this elusive information you're withholding from me? I'm aware he _might_ not be gay, but he's been reading homoerotic novels according to his database entry, and–"

"I thought you promised to stop going through people's private records for fun," Francis interrupts. "And his sexuality is not the concern here, but you'll find out in just a moment."

"What...?" Arthur begins.

He's cut off by Francis' arms slipping under his, lifting him up onto his toes. Then Francis is pushing him, trying to lift him and failing – their matching heights are a blessing and a curse, but in this instance Arthur rejoices because it allows him the capability for digging his heels into the floor, slowing himself significantly as Francis tries to direct him.

"Let _go_ of me! Put me down-!"

"You are going to introduce yourself to _Monsieur_ Honda," Francis hisses, his voice strained, "and you are going to take great care in making sure you don't embarrass yourself like you did with that Matthew boy."

"I can't," Arthur says, close to panicking, half-heartedly kicking Francis in the shins. "Stop it! Give me time, I'll... I'll figure out a way eventually, I—!"

He closes his eyes and prepares to propel himself backwards with all his might, purely to remove Francis from his person, but then Francis' presence disappears by itself and there's only Arthur, standing between two aisles of bookcases like he had been before.

Except this time, _this bloody time, _he's face to face with the man he's grown ridiculously attached to.

Honda is staring at him, blinking slowly in a display of mild surprise, confused by the moments-earlier kerfuffle involving Francis. It's so convenient that the Frenchman just gets to throw Arthur into the deep end before running away, but then again, librarians are very convenient people.

Though this isn't so bad. This is _brilliant_. Up close, Arthur can see every detail he adores about Honda intensified, and the sheer proximity is making his heart race and his palms sweat in a truly _wonderful_ way. Honda's eyes are distant, still the eyes of a dreamer, or perhaps just someone who thinks more than they act, content in their own head. The sort of person Arthur wants to be, the sort of person Arthur wants to have around.

The words are at the back of Arthur's throat, a simple introduction, a cheerful greeting. He can sense Honda growing more and more uncomfortable with every passing second, confused as to why Arthur's approached him, clearly unnerved by the long silence. Arthur knows he needs to break it, lest he put Honda off forever, but it's so _difficult _because what if he says something stupid, what if he isn't good enough for Honda, what if–

"Hello, I'm Arthur," comes hurtling from his mouth of its own accord, his hand flying out in an offer of a courteous handshake. "You probably already know I work here, _ah_; I decided to make my introductions as you're here quite a bit, it would be rude not to – not that I'm _annoyed _or anything that you're here quite a bit; I feel the opposite about it, honestly!"

His voice trails off when he realises he isn't gaining any reaction from Honda whatsoever. It's just the same blank stare of mild confusion, the man's stance frozen in opening a new book. Arthur feels sick to his stomach, because he hates being rejected and it seems to be the only thing he receives when he tries opening up to others.

Except Francis, but Francis doesn't count because he wants to know what's going on in _everyone's_ life, not just Arthur's.

And, as if on cue, Francis' voice hisses from the other side of the _Fantasy _bookcase. "You're _so_ smooth. Try speaking slower, he might actually understand you and your pathetic declarations of love."

"Hush up!" Arthur sneers back, reddening, mortified that Francis would say such a thing in front of Honda himself. He wants to go home and go to bed and curl up under his blankets, not to emerge again; he wants the floor to swallow him up and never return him. He tries to let the humiliation subside just a tad before addressing Honda with, "_Please_, ignore Francis, he's just immature. I-I can see I'm bothering you, anyway, so, I'll leave you in peace, _er, _sorry for interrupting your reading; have a good day, sorry again..."

From Honda comes silence and nothing else, his expression relaxing into one of nothingness, disinterest.

"Speak slower!" Francis says, parting a few books on the fourth-from-top shelf so his eyes become visible to the other side. "Start again!"

Arthur feels a wave of jealousy when he thinks that Francis seems to have interacted with Honda before he did, but he forces back the envy and asks, "Is his English poor?"

"His English is perfect," Francis replies, poking his nose through, "but you need to follow some ground rules if you're going to try _speaking_."

"Are _you_ insulting the way _I_ talk?" Arthur cries, irate and already frustrated. "You're hardly one to pass judgement-!"

"Stubborn _rosbif, _that's _not_ what I'm telling you-!" Francis sibilates, but Arthur cuts him off.

"What _are_ you trying to tell me, hm? Are you playing games with me? I've no time for you showing me up just because you think it's funny!"

Disgruntled, Francis tries pushing more books away to get a better view, until they begin accidentally falling to the ground. He quickly withdraws his hands to stop more from making an untimely descent, sighing before disappearing from view – the argument disappears just as suddenly.

"Francis?" Arthur says. "What do you think you're doing?"

His tone is nearly a whine; he stands at a loss concerning how to proceed. He checks Honda's expression – still utterly, hopelessly blank – and admits silent defeat, crouching down to pick up the books Francis knocked over.

"Sorry," he mutters, though he's sure Honda doesn't care. Honda has let Arthur know _very _clearly that he's not even interested in talking to him. It's to be expected, really.

And then something _magnificent_ happens.

Honda crouches along with Arthur, and he's reaching for the fallen books, lovingly plucking them up from the ground to gather them in his arms. Arthur looks up, shocked, and sees Honda smiling back at him; it's a small, understated smile, and the sight of it makes Arthur's core feel unnecessarily warm, turning his face pink.

"Mr. Honda?" he asks, though he isn't sure what answer he's expecting.

"_Kiku_," Honda insists, slowly, with a heavily accented voice that Arthur just finds all the more endearing, retained and refined like the rest of its owner. "You are...?"

"I'm Arthur," Arthur responds, and he wonders if he really _had _been talking far too quickly for the human ear to make out, because he could have sworn the name 'Arthur' would be recognisable enough at normal conversational speed.

Honda – _Kiku_ – raises his head and looks up at something, so Arthur turns to glance up with him, curious. Francis has emerged from 'round the other side of the bookcase, and he's making odd gestures with his hands, and Arthur looks to Kiku and sees that _Kiku's_ making them too, almost in response, and –

And then it hits, like a slap to the cheek or a bus to the face.

"Sign language," Arthur says, to Kiku directly. "You're deaf."

Kiku's blank stare returns for a few moments, and then a hand raises to his lips and he's laughing a laugh that's as wonderfully composed as everything else he does, polite and elegant to the bitter end. He's lovely, understanding, and Arthur's lips burn with the ache to snog him senseless.

But he controls himself.

"I'm sorry," Arthur says, though he isn't sure what for. A general apology, because it seems about right, and he keeps his words at a reasonable speed. "I'm a bit... uppity sometimes. Or so I've been told. I don't see it."

"That's an understatement," Francis mutters. "He is terrible and tempestuous."

Then he pauses, and he looks down at Arthur to give him that worrying grin, before turning back to Kiku and signing something new.

"Stop that," Arthur demands, leaping to his feet, books still in arms. "What are you saying to him? Tell me-!"

Whatever it is, it must be comical, because Kiku laughs again quickly and signs something back.

"Do you know the Lion Arms pub?" Francis asks nonchalantly, ignoring the way Arthur silently rages beside him.

"Of course," Arthur replies, thinking of the many evenings he's spent there, competing with Gilbert on who can drink the most. It's probably wise not to tell Kiku about his alcohol-related hobbies just yet, however.

"Mr. Honda will be there at seven," Francis says before drifting away, leaving Arthur open-mouthed and frozen to the spot. Kiku stands up without Arthur registering the motion, depositing the books he's collected back onto their appropriate shelf.

"Pleased to meet you," Kiku declares, and there's amusement in his voice when he adds, "It's nice to finally know the name of the man that has been watching me for months."

He reaches out, and presses Arthur's jaw shut with his thumb, and smiles back at Arthur's sheepish grin.

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**So... that's that. xD I may continue this universe one day, but for now, thanks for reading :3**


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